Hello Again
by LogicalBookThief
Summary: "Well, since the bun in my oven makes me a target of demons and fallen angels alike, I figured that sticking with you while it bakes would be the safest bet. Didn't count on you losing your mojo, though, Clarence." Meg finds herself inexplicably alive and pregnant. Castiel is human and on the angels' most wanted list. Somehow, they manage to make it work. Post 9x06. Megstiel.


Hello, all! This is my first dip into the Supernatural fandom, so wish me luck as I get my feet wet. I decided to write something with what I feel to be the one of the most intriguing yet underrated pairings, even though it's basically canon. Plus, seeing Castiel with that baby in "Heaven Can't Wait" was too adorable to not make me want more Daddy!Cas.

Come on, writers, you _know_ you want to bring dry-voiced, wise-cracking Meg back. It's not like resurrection is out of the realms of possibility on this show. Because while _Goodbye Stranger_ was one of the favorite episodes from last season, it also left me with a bittersweet aftertaste. Time to fix that.

Disclaimer: I own nada.

* * *

_I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they're right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together._

_- Marilyn Monroe_

**_._**

**_._**

**_._**

Arriving home from his latest shift at the Gas 'n Sip, Castiel sensed that he was not alone. Grace or no, years of playing both predator and prey had instilled in him a healthy aversion to uninvited guests. Taking hold of the angel blade he kept hidden on his person, Castiel cautiously stepped over the threshold and called out, "Show yourself, whoever you are."

He didn't actually expect the intruder to comply. Much to his surprise, however, the lamp with a crooked shade flickered on, illuminating the dingy motel room with light; and there, sitting at the table, eating his last frozen burrito was none other than _Meg._

"Long time no see, Clarence," she greeted smoothly. "Neat angel-skewer. Expecting a few old poker buddies tonight?"

The weapon in his hand all but forgotten, Castiel stared, open-mouthed, unable to say anything except, "You're dead."

"Wow, you sure know how to make a girl feel welcome. No 'Hello again, Meg' or even a daring 'Kiss me, you fool!'" she cried with mock ecstasy. Predictably, the innuendo went ignored.

"We were quite certain you had died," stated Castiel by way of explanation, the pain of her death clawing its way up the walls of the pit he'd buried it in.

"Sorry to disappoint," said Meg dryly.

"No, it is not a disappointment," he hastily assured. "In fact, I find myself undeniably...glad to see you alive." Glad to see a friendly face period, given the way his first few weeks of humanity had gone.

Meg smirked at his sincerity. "Is that right? Well, you might change your mind when I show you why I'm here," she warned, standing — with some difficulty — and taking a step toward Castiel. Then she held out her hand. The former angel raised an eyebrow at the gesture — his ex-caretaker wasn't known for her open affection, after all; Florence Nightingale she was not.

"Go on, Clarence. I promise not to give you cooties. Unless you want me to," she urged, winking.

Unsure of how to verbally respond, Castiel placed his hand in hers. Before he could question what she planned on doing with his appendage, Meg was pushing aside her shirt and coat, guiding his palm to her bare stomach.

Frowning, Castiel waited. Aside from a slight weight gain — which his experience with women told him would be impolite to mention — he detected nothing out of the ordinary. Or at least as much as his graceless human form would allow him to detect. Her skin was still skin. Her stomach rose and fell in tandem to the beat of her miraculously thriving heart. What else was he supposed to learn by touching her abdomen—?

Then he _felt it,_ and the sensation was the equivalent to a fist knocking all the air from his lungs: A second, softer heartbeat. For the first time, Castiel understood what it was like to be — what was the human term? Flummoxed. Flabbergasted. Speechless. Any of these words terms would suffice.

"Meg..." he rasped, fingers trembling slightly, "...you are with child?"

She snorted, slicing a hole through the thick blanket of tension that had shrouded over the room, and Castiel found he could breathe again. "No kidding. Been watching a lot Doctor Sexy, M.D., have you?"

He slowly retracted his hand from her still exposed (_tantalizing,_ a voice from the corner of his mind hungered) belly, gawking in amazement. "Strange. I was unaware demon's host could become pregnant while inhabited. There are rare cases, I suppose," the former angel mused, recalling the Jesse Turner boy.

"Rare cases, huh? Just my luck," scoffed Meg. "Or _our_ luck, I should say."

A lump akin to a heavy anvil settled at the bottom of Castiel's throat. Assaulted by an anxiety-fueled nausea, he concluded that even in comparison to the moment when Metatron had him strapped to a chair with an angel blade poised at his exposed throat, knowing with frightening clarity _exactly_ what was about to be stolen from him, this was somehow worse. Her implications did not fall on deaf ears. He knew what she was getting at, and it wasn't good. "Meg..."

"I guess what I'm trying to tell you is," she continued, disregarding his plea. "Congratulations, Clarence, it's a...well, whatever it is, it's yours."

_Of course_ it was. Because Fate apparently had cruel sense of humor, and a deep-seeded grudge against Castiel. Lately, nothing came easily, and even when his life began to regain some semblance of stability, trouble was waiting right around the corner. This must be what it was like to be a Winchester.

"This is impossible," he muttered to himself, fighting the human urge to tug at his hair in frustration. "How could this have happened?"

"Does you, me, a roll of bandages and a quickie on that couch ring a bell?" Meg quipped.

Indeed, Castiel remembered their "quickie" in vivid detail. He remembered him and Meg, alone, while he tended her wounds. He remembered his protectiveness towards her, his anger towards Crowley, and forced indifference subduing both emotions, courtesy of Naomi's influence. Although his mission to obtain the angel tablet had been clear-cut, with no room for distraction, something about Meg — a demon who defied her very nature in order to assist two hunters and a fallen angel — had given him the strength to forgo duty and exert his hard-earned free will.

For a sweet, fleeting moment, there had been nothing but frenzied lust and a godforsaken carelessness — no separate factions, no ulterior motives, no hidden loyalties. Despite the fundamental wrongness of an angel and demon lying together, Castiel recalled the affair quite fondly. It was a single reprieve in the chaos that followed: almost killing Dean, going on the lam with the angel tablet, Naomi's murder, Sam's near-fatal completion of the trials and Metatron's betrayal.

Presently, Castiel was struck with a sudden epiphany. "Yes, but, I was an angel then. And you are a demon. Theoretically, our union shouldn't have been able to produce a child. It's not merely forbidden, it's biologically illogical."

Meg opened her mouth to refute his doubts, when the first statement fully sunk in. "Hold that existential crisis," she halted, snapping to attention. "What do you mean by I _was_ an angel _then?"_

The silence that settled over the motel room was stifling, if not awkward, to say the least. Castiel had the irrational desire to wring his hands, like a schoolboy who'd just been embarrassed in front of his crush. "I lost my grace," he confessed, feeling even lower to admit it aloud. "Therefore, I am...human."

At this untimely revelation, Meg couldn't help but laugh, a self-depreciating sound. "Ohh, that _is_ just my luck."

"How so?"

"Well, since the bun in my oven is an abomination against nature, and pretty much makes me a target of demons and fallen angels alike, I figured that sticking with you while it bakes would be the safest bet." She flashed him a smile that was half indulgence, half exasperation; an expression he hadn't seen since his days at the mental hospital, a smile he hadn't realized he missed until now. "Didn't count on you losing your mojo, though, Clarence."

"Nor did I," admitted Castiel, scrutinizing his old — enemy, ally, caretaker, friend, lover? Whatever she was to him now, she didn't appear angry at his declaration as he had feared she would be. Nor was she despairing or panicking or even cursing his inadequacy. If anything, she looked tired, weakened. Was carrying his abnormal child such a burden to her? he wondered with a pang of guilt.

His thoughts were interrupted by an exaggerated sigh.

"Whelp, no biggie. Sorry for returning from the dead again, unannounced. I'll get out of your hair and go find myself a place to lie low. See ya around, stranger—" She tried to brush past him, aiming for the door, but he caught her by the arm and pulled her back.

"Wait," said Castiel, drawing their faces close, narrowing his eyes into hers. "Why did you come here?"

"Like I said, I could use the security. Don't have many allies left to choose from in my hour of need, do I?" Meg reminded.

"You didn't know I would offer my protection. I could have just as easily killed the child the minute you told me. I _still_ could." His grip on her arm tightened, emphasizing his point. "You knew this, yet you sought me out."

"A girl has to pick her battles," explained Meg wistfully, exposing her thorny pain. "Honestly, if there was a way to rip our lil' bastard out without mostly likely killing me, I would have done it myself. Kid's draining me like an iPhone battery as it is; I can hardly transport myself without falling over afterwards. Ergo, I thought I might as well see if my baby daddy was willing to play nice." With a steely conviction, staring directly into his eyes, she added, "Anyway, if I am going to be iced, I would rather it be you than any of those other assclowns."

That gave Castiel pause. Part of him advised him to be smart, end it now, stop this madness before it began. Part of him clung to his affection for this demon, no matter how wrong it was, and the knowledge that whatever it was she carried, it was _his_ — and for all intense purposes, it was an unborn, innocent life. But would it always be? Did he dare wait to find out? Or could he still be that merciless soldier who followed orders without personal or moral interference, and then justified his actions in the name of heavenly righteousness?

"Hey, if you're going to gank me, speed it along. My vessel is nursing a hemorrhoid the size of Montana over here," cracked Meg impatiently.

"I'm not going to kill you," sighed Castiel, grasp slackening. "Or the child."

Meg's eyebrows shot towards her hairline, which was once again the dark color she preferred. "And his heart grew three sizes that day," she murmured drolly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were becoming as sentimental as those Winchesters."

"Perhaps I am becoming more human," Castiel hypothesized, neither bothered nor excited by the prospect; simply accepting.

"So...now that all that crap is arranged, I think I'm ready for bed. Care to show me where I'll be sleeping tonight, Clarence?" The words rolled off her tongue with coy suggestion.

"Of course," the former angel nodded, oblivious to her intimations. "I shall fetch a pillow and blanket for myself on the floor, that way you may have the bed."

And then the poor, chivalrous fool left to do just that.

Meg flopped back onto the bed with a huff, the first she'd had in weeks, pouting at the ceiling. "Guess that means no pizza tonight."

* * *

Good? Bad? Entertaining? Belongs in the scrapyard? Let me know down below if I should continue or not!


End file.
